


Anything You Can Do

by kenshincha



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Banter, Competition, Established Relationship, Food, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-20 19:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14900997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenshincha/pseuds/kenshincha
Summary: Illya and Napoleon argue who's the best boyfriend.





	Anything You Can Do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_worrying_kind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_worrying_kind/gifts).



> To my lovely giftee! Based on the prompt of the boys being crazy competitive. I had a lot of fun writing this one. I hope you enjoy!

Illya awoke to the wonderful savory smell of kolbasa. And a horrible hangover. His stomach grumbled, but was it in desire or protest?

Illya vowed to never drink again. He was a lightweight, he knew that. He was large, and he was Russian, but he had never liked the taste or the feeling of losing control of himself. Last night had been a rare occasion when he felt the urge. Napoleon and Gaby had been sipping drinks, laughing and relaxed, and Illya had been envious of it. He'd sat down and presented his glass. Napoleon and Gaby had both looked surprised but let him join in.

Illya shoved his face deeper into his pillow, trying to get away from the smell, but it was too tempting.

He stumbled up, surprised to find he'd been undressed to his boxers and undershirt. He made his way to the kitchen.

Napoleon stood in front of the stove. His apron was a strange frilly thing that he wore without shame over a nice shirt and suit pants. He turned and smiled at Illya, who fell into a chair at the kitchen table.

Illya groaned and covered his eyes with his hand, trying to block out the light, which was luckily already subdued with the curtains closed.

"I have a newfound sympathy for you, my dear," Napoleon murmured quietly, pressing a kiss to the side of his head and placing something in front of him. "Dragging you and Gaby to bed is not as easy as it looks." He gently thread his fingers through Illya's hair, his magical touch soothing some of the headache.

"Never again," Illya grumbled, causing Napoleon to chuckle. He moved his hand to find a glass of water and a plate stacked full of kolbasa and syrnyky, cottage cheese dumplings, drizzled in honey. He hadn't been hungry before, but now he was starving. He switched between chugging water and devouring his breakfast. When he finished, Napoleon replaced his empty plate with another full one. Illya muttered a thank you before starting again.

He was halfway through his second helping when Gaby came in. She looked as rough as Illya felt. Her hair was a large tangled mess and her pajamas were askew. She wore large sunglasses, both to block out the light and hide the smeared makeup still on from the night before. She collapsed in her chair with an exaggerated moan. "Please tell me Illya did not eat all of the food."

Napoleon smirked and presented her with a plate. "I saved some scraps for you."

"Even your scraps are divine." She had fallen in love with Napoleon's cooking after only their second mission together. She dove into it with gusto, making happy noises. "You are a lucky man, Illya."

"I don't feel so lucky," he shot back, though he was feeling better with each bite of food he took.

Gaby snorted. "You are. You have such a wonderful boyfriend. He is the best boyfriend."

Napoleon grinned as he gracefully placed his own plate on the table and sat down. "There's no need to flatter me, but please continue."

"I am better boyfriend than him," Illya shot back.

"Oh really?" Gaby raised an eyebrow over her sunglasses. "What do you do when Napoleon has a hangover, hmm?" she asked, and Illya frowned. "Do you remove his clothing and lie him in bed? No, you dump him on the couch in his suit and open the curtains so the morning sun will wake him."

Napoleon took a small bite of sausage. "He certainly doesn't make me breakfast."

Gaby pointed his fork at him. "Exactly."

"I bring him water," he grumbled. "I start coffee."

"No, no, Peril. It's established. I'm the better boyfriend. The sooner you accept this, the sooner you can lavish me with praise."

Illya glared. "You are terrible boyfriend. We come back from mission, and you use all of the hot water."

Gaby hummed. "That is rather inconsiderate."

"I offer to shower together," Napoleon pointed out.

"You hog spray and soap," Illya accused. "And who cleans up bathroom after you've splashed water everywhere?"

Napoleon waved his hand dismissively. "Water evaporates. Who packs your things every time we move to a new location?"

"You bring too many things. Takes you too long. I am one who buys breakfast those mornings."

"Buy. Not make." Napoleon leaned backing his chair. "And I only pack essentials. Some of us need more than one change of clothing, a shaving kit and deodorant."

"I let you drive," Illya said. He hated letting someone else take the wheel, but he trusted Napoleon and his skills.

"I let you pick the hotels. No matter how cheap and full of roaches they are. That is true love."

"You always pick most conspicuous place! And I have been picking nicer places for you." He never picked anywhere as expensive as Napoleon would, but he knew Napoleon liked to treat himself, and Illya found he liked that too. "I take muck work so you can play suave role at the rich parties."

"You act like you're doing me a favor! I know you don't like to fake at socializing with those snobs."

Illya frowned. It was true.

Napoleon's smile gentled a little. "I took that dull rainy outside surveillance job when we learned that Mikhail Botvinnik would be attending that party in Finland."

"You did?" At the time, Illya had not spoken about his desire to meet the chess Grandmaster, but he recalled Napoleon had suggested the switch. Illya's chest warmed against his will. He felt the need to scramble for something to say. "I took that bullet for you."

Napoleon blinked. "Yes, and it would have hit my arm. Instead it hit your chest. You had a collapsed lung!"

Illya glared. "It doesn't matter where it would have hit you. I could not let it."

It was Napoleon's turn to be flustered. He leaned forward. "I let myself be chased by that dog when you couldn't pick that lock fast enough."

Illya leaned closer himself. "I let old lady pinch my ass when you needed distraction to unlock that safe!"

"I almost got caught recovering that Imperial Faberge Egg from that drug cartel we infiltrated! I didn't even keep it. I let you return it to Russia!"

"I hide trackers on you," Illya snapped. "So I can always find you!"

"Well so do I!"

They stared at each other a long moment.

Illya only noticed Gaby again when she speared the last of his syrynky with a fork to bring over to her own plate. Both he and Napoleon look down at their empty plates and the trails of crumbs leading to Gaby's.

They both watched her eat the last of the breakfast. "Don't mind me!" She stood, licking some honey off her fingers. "Carry on, boys. Just don't wreck the kitchen when you begin the 'makeup' portion of the argument." With that, she took her leave.

Napoleon and Illya returned their gazes back to each other.

"I bet I can make you come first," Napoleon said with a smirk.

Illya stood. "You're on.”


End file.
